


I Don’t Even Make Good Roadkill

by Punk_Slime



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: God I’m bad at this on mobile especially, M/M, WIP, as usual I don’t know where I’m really going with this, i see now that bubba/reader tag does not exist inexplicably, whatever my tag now, will add tags/rating/warning as it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Slime/pseuds/Punk_Slime
Summary: Hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere is never a good plan. Sometimes bad plans get you boyfriends though.
Relationships: Leatherface | Bubba "Junior" Sawyer/Reader, Leatherface | Bubba "Junior" Sawyer/You, Leatherface | Bubba "Junior" Sawywer/male reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	I Don’t Even Make Good Roadkill

**Author's Note:**

> Bubba is another character who I really just want to have the sweetest, loving relationship with, it’s not just overwhelming lust. But yeah obviously that too.

Orange light trickles in between wooden boards and finally manages to reach your face. This, now paired with a blinding headache, brings you into a miserable state of consciousness. How long had you been out? Where were you now? You wince as you try to sit up straight, it feels like your brain is throbbing against your skull.

Heat exhaustion and dehydration. You vaguely remember passing out on the road now. No one would pick you up. It really was a miracle you didn’t die out under the Texas sun and bake onto the asphalt like the rest of the roadkill.

Your surroundings slowly start to take form in ways that register in your brain. You are in fact on a bed. Tears start to brim in your eyes, the pain is so persistent. Slowly, you let yourself slump back into the bed, and pull the scratchy blanket over your head. It smells strongly of dust and mothballs. A nauseating mix with the pounding in your head. 

Now obviously, the fact that not only had someone found you before you died out in the middle of nowhere, but they’d taken you home and tucked you into bed, should have at least made you wonder where they were now. But nothing was processing right. There was nothing you could focus on through the pain. Instead you cried softly to yourself, long enough to lull yourself back to sleep.

When you wake up again, the room is completely black. Now it doesn’t hurt to sit up, or to think. A thin coat of sweat covers you, and you wipe your forehead as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. As you do, you kick something brittle, which skitters across the floor. It’s too dark to see though, even after your eyes have started to adjust. You can barely see your own hand in front of your face.

As you sit there, in the total darkness, you realize a few things. First, you aren’t completely dehydrated. Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made it through the night. Secondly, that meant someone had probably checked in on you a few times, and gotten you to drink something. Whether or not you were awake you couldn’t remember. And lastly, not only was it quiet in the room you were in, but it seemed like the house was dead quiet as well. No distant chatter or footsteps. 

Seemingly just as that had dawned on you, you could hear someone walking toward the room. As the door opened, it allowed the faintest trace of light into the room. Enough to allow you to see the silhouette of a towering figure standing in the doorway. 

Neither of you spoke. You strained to make out any features of their face, to no avail. As far as you could tell, they were studying you too. The floorboards groaned loudly as they stepped further into the room, and now that they weren’t standing directly in front of the light it was a little easier to see them. 

They were carrying a bowl and cloth from what you could tell. For a moment, they loomed over you, just staring, before kneeling in front of you, setting the bowl and cloth on the floor. Even on their knees they were about eye-level with you. And they were… wearing a mask?

A huge hand pressed against your forehead, the back of it, presumably checking your temperature. They were breathing heavily, but still said nothing. 

“I’m not running a fever,” you assured them. 

They jumped when you finally spoke, and quickly got to their feet. Before you could apologize for startling them, they’d hurried out of the room, leaving the bowl behind. The door slammed shut behind them, making you jump in return. 

Confusion and fear of overstepping any household boundaries kept you in bed, despite being wide awake now. Over the next few hours you’d managed to doze in and out, but for the most part you lied awake, picking at stray strings on the hem of the old blanket. 

The morning snuck up on you. At some point, you’d fallen asleep without realizing. A loud clatter followed by lots of yelling is what scared you awake. Your restless sleep left you feeling more exhausted than you had been in the first place.

Being groggy wouldn’t keep you down though. This time when your feet reached the floor it was completely visible to you. Revealing that, what you’d probably kicked the night before. Was bone. Animal bones, you assumed, littered the floor. Some hung from the ceiling, strung together with other bones and teeth and feathers. 

It wasn’t… nauseating necessarily, but it did get your heart rate up. Especially as the chaos from downstairs seemed to rise closer to you, until finally the door swung open so violently it crashed into the wall.

“Now what the HELL is this!?” 

This man was considerably shorter than the one you’d seen before. And a lot louder. In the moment, you’d forgotten where you were.

You didn’t have to respond, the one that had checked on you hurried to the other man’s side. His posture was submissive, he bent down slightly and clung desperately at the shorter man’s sleeve. Even now he didn’t speak, he only whimpered and gently pulled on the sleeve. 

“He should be in the freezer by now! Meat doesn’t get the damn guest bed!”

The larger man squealed desperately, the pitch was enough to make you cringe. Did he call you meat?

“You got til dinner to make your choice, boy. You gonna choose a pet over your family?”

Just as furiously as he’d entered, he left, making a dramatic trip down the stairs to let everyone know he was still upset. 

Now you were alone with… hopefully the nicer of the two. Who was just staring at you, but was quiet again. His breathing seemed to be labored, like he was panicking, or on the verge of tears. 

“Are you the one who brought me up here?”

He nodded slowly after a moment.

“Thank you.”

Apparently that wasn’t what he’d expected you to say, but after a moment of nervous hand-wringing, he stepped a little further into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. 

He took a seat in front of you on the floor and slowly but very obviously reached for your hand, as if he were coaxing a frightened animal. You didn’t flinch, allowing him to take your hand gently into his own. He was checking you over. It wasn’t until now that you noticed two things: the stinging in your palms and forearms from the scraped skin, you must have collapsed in the road and he must have been kind enough to pick out the gravel for you; and the fact that the mask he was wearing was almost certainly made of human skin and hair. 

The sudden and involuntary change in your expression instantly told him to let go, probably assuming he’d hurt you. 

If you’d planned on saying something to reassure him, you’d forgotten the words. You were frozen, in every sense. He took this as his cue to leave, his posture slouched and apologetic. For as careful as he’d been when sitting down, he was frantic to leave your space. 

The thud of the closed door made you jump, and all of your thoughts came rushing back. Not that they were any more organized now that he was gone. All you could do now was stew in what had just happened. And how bad you felt realizing you’d hurt his feelings.


End file.
